Venture
by trufflemores
Summary: Takes place back in Season 2, four days after Original Song. Nearlylight prompted: "blaine falling asleep in kurt's lap during a movie uwu." Early!Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Kurt was so absorbed in _Moulin Rouge _that he didn't notice at first when Blaine dozed off.

They'd been boyfriends for four days (five hours, eighteen minutes) and Kurt was still waiting for reality to catch up to him, convinced that it couldn't be all wonderful. There had to be a catch, some snag that had invariably (but for months, incessantly) kept them from being together. They had gravitated so close and yet so far from being _boyfriends _over the course of three months that Kurt was amazed that he hadn't actually resorted to tearing his own hair out in frustration.

If his comeuppance was regret that he hadn't been making out with and generally spending more time with Blaine three months prior, then Kurt was willing to accept it and appreciate the fact that they were finally together.

At least they weren't wasting any time now. Their dorms were on opposite sides of the hall, but that hadn't stopped Blaine from dropping by with grandeur promises to entertain him and a winning smile that endowed certainty to his claims. He had sidled in and was barely past the closed door when Kurt had pressed him against it and kissed him, a quick but surprisingly heated affair that caught both of them off-guard.

Then Blaine had kissed the tip of his nose lightly in retaliation and they'd both dissolved into giggles, deflating the unspoken cloud of tension that Kurt had involuntarily stirred.

They were young and every moment not kissing felt vaguely like a moment wasted – or, more generously, colorless, as if the world was only half-full whenever distance separated them – but going _beyond _kissing, even with someone like Blaine, still seemed wildly improbable and frankly terrifying.

Which was why it almost jarred Kurt from his place against the headboard when Blaine let out a soft snore next to his right knee, curled up cat-like around his leg with his head resting on Kurt's thigh. He was wearing black pants with a light gray sweater that Kurt had never even known he owned, let alone wore, and it was feather-light under Kurt's fingertips as he grazed them over Blaine's shoulders absentmindedly.

Blaine curled up into a tighter ball and then stretched before nudging his head against Kurt's thigh, a light, barely there gesture that almost could have been ignored or misinterpreted entirely. Kurt slid his hand wordlessly from shoulder to the shapely nest of Blaine's curls, gently carding his fingers through them.

Blaine let out a deep sigh without moving an inch, nuzzling Kurt's thigh in vague appreciation as _Moulin Rouge _continued to play in the background.

He knew that there would be hurdles to cross and that their budding relationship would eventually stumble, but there was a certain levity to being new to it and not knowing everything. He knew how Blaine took his coffee and what sort of tolerably boyish habits he needed to indulge in on a regular basis to feel connected with his friends, but he didn't know how many polo trophies Blaine owned, or how many years Blaine ever _had _played polo. He didn't know what his mysterious older brother was like (awful, if Blaine's cold-shouldering was any indication; mildly exasperating, on the better days). He had no clue what Blaine's opinion on beaches were, how long it had been since he'd last been camping, what types of fruits he was willing to try in a smoothie, or how many pairs of socks he owned.

He had no idea how much Blaine loved him, whether it compared to the burning, fierce love in Kurt's chest that seemed utterly unabating, or if it was dimmer, quieter, doomed to drift apart and cool, star-like.

Still, he knew that Blaine trusted and wanted him, that he craved and prioritized Kurt's company, and that, at the end of the day, he was the last one that Kurt spoke to and the first one that he said hello to in the morning.

Maybe their relationship was doomed cosmically, but Kurt was happy to languish in blissful oblivion for a while longer, if only because Blaine's curls were _divine _and being able to just run his fingers through them uninterrupted was too enjoyable to pass up. He didn't venture beyond the occasional light scratch or sweeping rub, not wanting to wake him, but his attention never fully strayed from Blaine even as his eyes fixed on the screen.

It was a gift – even if it might be only a fleeting one – to love Blaine and to be able to express that love in the ways that he wanted to, even if those manifestation were most pronounced in unexpected kisses against the backs of closed dorm doors and sleepy, unplanned head rubs to the tune of _Moulin Rouge._

He loved Blaine, and he wanted to be loved by Blaine in return.

But for now – even unsatisfied and uncertain – Kurt was content.


End file.
